Work Text:
In a way, he made me think of a child doll, with brilliant faintly red-brown glass eyes – a doll that had been found in an attic. I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, and make him even more radiant than he was. […….] 'Yes,' I said, 'and comb your hair, your beautiful russet hair.' My tone was angry. 'You look good to me, you damnable little devil, good to embrace and good to love.'
Excerpt from: Memnoch the Devil by Anne Rice. (Arrow Books, 1996, p 157)
I stepped out of the shower, carefully as I had managed to slip a few days ago. I had done many stupid things the past week, it was as if I could not concentrate on anything. I was so lonely. When Louis and David, my beloved fledglings, had left me to return on my own to our New Orleans home, I had not protested. But I had hoped that they would be back by now.
I made my way into my bedroom. I had lain out fresh clothes on a bed – a black velvet suit, a crisp white shirt, a blood-red silk scarf. I was not planning on going out tonight. Being among mortals only heightened the loneliness, the sense of isolation. Mojo would be alright in the old garden. Perhaps I would seek him out for company later.
I made my way towards the study. I was thinking I might write a letter for David. I believed him to be with Maharet. I supposed that the story of the Great Family would interest him, and by now he should have found Maharet to see it all with his own eyes. But then I decided against the letter. Writing is such a moral past-time. Besides, I had nothing much to write about, and I was afraid that I would weep in my loneliness if I even began to think of David.
I turned towards the kitchen instead. I remembered that I had a bottle of whiskey, a Christmas present from the kindly old lady that took care of Mojo. I can not drink it anymore, no, but I like to pour some in a mug of boiling water and wrap my fingers around the warmth. I like to feel the fragrant steam rising to my face, putting the slightest bit of colour in my cheeks. I like the sweet smell.
I turned on the kettle. I found the whiskey at the back of a cupboard. I was pouring water into the mug when suddenly I became aware of the presence of another in my house. I turned around abruptly, my gaze meeting soft brown eyes. His gaze was inquisitive, mischievous, childlike.
"Armand?" I couldn't quite find my voice, hating the fact that he had sneaked into my house. How long had he been here, watching me? How did he get in?
"Don't worry, my friend, I have not been here long." His voice was soft, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Not teasing, just letting me know he meant no offence.
"I entered by your balcony," he continued, gesturing towards my bedroom.
I studied him, wondering where he had come from. His hair was tangled, matted by dust. He was wearing faded jeans and a hooded sweater – much like any youth of today. There was a rip on his left sleeve. His clothes, too, were dusty.
"I'm sorry, would you like some?" I indicated to the whiskey behind me, unable to think of anything else to say. I had not seen him for so long, and I could not imagine what he could possibly want.
"Yes, please," he replied in the same soft, unobtrusive, voice. I understood that he had come in peace, as a friend. No thoughts of things which has passed between us years before. No hate.
I motioned for him to sit down at the table, placing one of the mugs in front of him. I took the other mug and sat down opposite him.
His fingers closed around the mug. He inhaled the steam deeply. A soft pink hue gathered on his cheeks.
"I saw Louis, in Paris, last week. He told me you were alone here." His eyes searched mine. He wanted to know my reaction. I kept my thoughts private.
"How is Louis?" I asked, feeling slightly unnerved beneath his seeking gaze. I brought the mug up towards my face, relishing in the warmth.
"Louis? He was well when I saw him. I think he misses you. Expect him back soon, when he has been away long enough to seem indifferent." He smiled at me. I knew what he meant. Louis still tried his best to hate me, although we all knew that he did not.
"Anyway," he continued, "we talked for a while. He told me all that had happened. When he left I realised that I wanted to see you. I hope you don't mind." He looked down into his mug, and then he looked at me again, almost shyly.
I was quiet for a moment. I did not know what to do. I wanted to throw myself in his arms and weep. I wanted to tell him that I was happy to see him. I wanted to confess that the loneliness had been driving me crazy. I did not do any of this.
"No, I don't mind." I tried to keep my voice as gentle as his, hoping that he would understand that I was happy to see him.
He simply nodded, sweeping some of his matted curls away from his face. He looked so much the boy right now, fragile, almost innocent. I understood why Marius had loved him so. I felt desire sweep over me, as it had done on that ominous night in Les Innocents when I first met him. Desire to gather him up, to bathe him, to clothe him in velvet and lace and satin. To comb his hair until it glowed like a dark aura. To gather him to me, embrace him, and kiss his perfect porcelain face.
"Yes?" He whispered quietly. I looked at him. His gaze held mine calmly.
I realised that I had unwittingly projected those thoughts to him. And he was silently letting me know that he wanted me to do it. He would submit to me like a child-doll and let me lavish him with love and kisses.
Time stood still. Neither of us moved. I did not know how to deal with this.
"Have you seen David?" I asked. The tension had become unbearable.
"Yes," he said softly, "he is beautiful." He smiled. Of course, Armand now understood the love and pride one often feels for a fledgling. Daniel had taught him this.
I remained silent. I noticed that the liquid in my mug was cooling.
"You do not have to worry about David," Armand continued in the same soft manner, "he is powerful. I know of none that wishes to hurt him. And you're quite right, Maharet has found him. He is safe."
Silence again. Unbearable tension. His eyes searching mine. 'I'm yours tonight,' they seemed to say, 'I'm yours, please love me.'
I got up from my chair and took the mugs. I poured out the contents and put them in the sink. He watched me curiously. I turned around to him as I made to leave the kitchen.
"Come," I said, reaching my hand for him. He accepted it as he rose to follow me.
I led him to the bathroom. Leaving him standing in the middle of the floor, I turned on the taps to fill the large bath before returning to him.
I stood in front of him. I touched my fingers to his face, gently. He sighed as I traced to contours.
"Are you sure?" I whispered, bringing my face close to him.
"Yes..." It was no more than a soft sight. Love me.
I pulled the sweater over his head. I was surprised to learn that he wore nothing underneath. The bath was full; I turned the taps with my mind. I ran my fingers over his chest. So beautiful.
He was standing shock still, only trembling slightly beneath my touch. He was mine, if only for this moment. I imagined him as he must have been as a mortal boy, the beautiful angel child whom Marius had rescued from living Hell.
My hands fell to his trousers. Slowly, I undid the buttons, then opened the zip. He inhaled sharply, but he didn't move. I slipped the trousers off. He stepped out of them obediently. He wore undergarments of white cotton. So modern.
I moved him to sit on the edge of the bath. I removed his socks, one after the other. Then I pulled him up to face me.
I leant forward and touched my lips to his cheek, then to his neck. He shivered.
"You're beautiful, mon ami," I whispered, letting my breath caress his ear. He sighed softly.
I removed his undergarments slowly, keeping my eyes on his face. His eyes gazed back at mine, showing only trust and gentle affection.
He was naked now. I gathered him up in my arms and then gracefully lifted him into the bath. He closed his eyes and lay back as the warm water enveloped him.
I looked at the bottles of oil on the side of the bath. Louis kept purchasing them at the drugstore. He could spend hours soaking in the hot, fragrant water.
I picked up a bottle marked 'Lavender', unscrewed the cap and poured a little into the water. The room was immediately filled with the soothing aroma; powerful to my vampiric senses.
Armand had opened his eyes again, and was studying me silently. I smiled at him; he looked beautiful in his bliss, happy like a child at Christmas.
I took off my coat, then rolled my shirtsleeves over my elbows. Finding a soft washcloth, I dipped it into the water, watching Armand's form through the ripples in the water.
"Close your eyes." He did so obligingly. I brought the wet cloth to his hair, cleaning away all the dust. A few droplets of water escaped and ran across his face. I brought my free hand up to trace their path. He smiled, but kept his eyes closed.
I took my time working through his thick hair. When I was done I offered him my hand and helped him out of the bath. I wrapped a soft flannel bath sheet around him, gently drying him off. I took my bath robe from the hook on the door and put it on him.
Leading him into my room, I left him to sit on the edge of my bed. He was still silent. His eyes followed me as I tried to find clothes that would for him. I decided that Louis' clothes were likely to fir him better than mine, so I took out two bags of clothes had bought for Louis last month. I knew Louis would only wear them for my sake in any case. He surely would not mind.
A thick black linen suit. That would surely be good. A cotton shirt with a lace trim, very pretty. A moss green velvet tie. Not too bad. I found some undergarments and then proceeded to dress my child for the night. Then I picked up a brush and groomed his hair until it shone.
He looked beautiful. The clothes were not quite the right size, but it did not matter much. I took his hands and stood him in front of the mirror. His reflection grinned at me, his eyes sparkling.
"Good, yes?" I asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Yes." He turned around to face me. His eyes locked with mine, I found myself drowning. I want you.
His voice echoed persistently in my head. For a few fleeting moments he reminded me of Claudia, his youthful innocence deceptive of the wisdom of his true age.
"Oh, Armand…" I wrapped my arms around him. I kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his nose… then my lips found his. I tasted his blood, and it was wonderfully sweet.
I held on to him as we parted. He was soft and pliant in my arms, a lost child, perhaps, always searching for affection and warmth. I felt the need to love him, to protect him, to have him always at my side so no harm could ever come to him.
"I must leave, the night is getting old." His voice startled me. He reached out and touched my cheek. There was a thin film of tears in his eyes.
"The world has hurt me, my friend," he said quietly, "I needed you, yes, but I cannot stay." It was not bitter, just a silent confession. He made to pull out of my embrace.
"Just for tonight?" I said, surprising myself in my expression of need, "Oh, Armand, spend the rest of tonight with me, and the day's sleep, and then leave tomorrow night."
He hesitated. I realized how sincerely I wanted him to remain, if only just for that night.
"Ok, for tonight," He acceded, relaxing into my embrace once more.
I lifted him onto the large bed. I sat beside him and pulled him to me. He rested his head against my chest as I ran my fingers through his soft auburn curls.
"You're beautiful, Lestat," he said suddenly, turning his head to look at my face.
"Thank you," I smiled at him, pulling him closer to me.
His head was resting in the crook of my neck. I felt his breath on my throat. Then his warm tongue was tracing my pulse.
I made no attempt to stop him as he pulled himself up a little and sank his fangs through my skin. I merely pulled him closer to me and buried my face in his neck. He smelled faintly of lavender. That night I had no secrets from him.
My tongue darted out to feel his pulse, impossibly erratic even in a preternatural body.
Yes, Lestat, take me. His voice was breathless in my head. I felt his fangs sink deeper into my throat, his thirst pulling at every fibre in my body. A moan reverberated through the room, and I am not sure if it is my own.
I pierced his skin and the blood flowed over my tongue. It was deceptively sweet, like that of a mortal child. Images flashed behind my closed eyelids, but I could not hold on to any of them. I was only aware of the circuit of mingled blood making its way through my body, and Armand in my arms. Nothing else mattered at that moment.
I do not know for how long we stayed like that, perhaps a minute, perhaps five. I know only that as I pulled away I felt an immense loss. His body was heavy against mine and his breath came in gasps, mirroring my own.
I leaned down to kiss him, finally, and he received my kiss eagerly. I eased myself from under him and went to the window to pull the heavy curtains.
"It's almost dawn," I said as I returned to the bed, "It is Sunday. No one should bother us today, and the doors are bolted."
He laid down beside me. I folded my arms around him and buried my face in his curls as he rested his head on my chest. Then sleep took me, and I was aware of nothing more.